“Signs and wonders,” Stagg said. “Damn, Chester. Sounds like you’re fucked five ways from Sunday.”

Bishop placed his big hairy hand over Chester’s slim, bony one and forced him to start scrawling out his name.

“If they get me for murder,” Pratt said. “I’ll tell ’em you forced me to sign this. It won’t be worth any more than a dog turd left on your lawn.”

Stagg reached up and over Chester’s arm for his fancy porcelain candy bowl, the one that had belonged to his dear sweet wife before she’d lost her damn mind and had to be institutionalized. God bless her. He unwrapped the candy and started to suck on its minty sweetness.

“You scared of a couple goddamn roofers?” Stagg asked.

Even as he was being held solid and still by Bishop, Pratt was able to offer a simple nod. “Gina somehow cut the old one,” he said. “She got loose and they followed her home. They’re the ones who chopped her up and drove her out to Parsham.”

“Dumped her and her car at the same location,” Stagg said. “Seems like those old boys had a plan to shake your ass down from the git-go. You been studying on that?”

Pratt nodded again. Stagg told Bishop to let him loose, Bishop getting so damn frustrated that a man like Chester Pratt wouldn’t bend to his will that he walked over to a corner and punched the brick wall.

“This don’t change a thing,” Stagg said. “Sign the papers and me and Bishop will make sure you’re in the clear.”

“These men ain’t right in the head,” Pratt said. “They live, act, and smell like animals.”

“Contractors?” Stagg said. “I got contractor problems half my damn life. They act big and tough, trying to force your hand to get paid more than they’re worth. Don’t you worry about nothing, Mr. Pratt. Me and Mr. Bishop coming into your business is a true gift from the Almighty. Everything happens for a reason. Now, don’t it?”

Chester Pratt stepped back, and for a quick moment, Stagg thought he might try and run out the door. But then better sense seemed to prevail and he turned away from Bishop breathing down his neck and looked right at Johnny Stagg. He let out a great deal of air, his bony shoulders sinking, and then started to cry just a bit. Stagg sure could’ve skipped that last part but waited and let the boy go ahead and get his emotions behind him.

“Come on, now,” Stagg said. “We good?”

Pratt reached out his right hand. And Stagg again offered him the Ole Miss chancellor’s silver pen.